


Walk with the Lions (Be Wild with Me)

by itsacoup



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, uhauling but ancient rome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 06:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsacoup/pseuds/itsacoup
Summary: Before they set the lions on us, Maria had said. There were always rumours about the games the Romans put on in their Coliseum, rumours so outrageous that Carol never put much stock in them. Tens of thousands of beasts killed in one morning? An ocean created inland to recreate naval battles? Ridiculous. She assumed the truth was smaller, a hundred beasts or a naval battle in a lake. Stories grow large as they travel across tongues.They're set to die by the lion's paws, but Maria and Carol aren't going down that easy.





	Walk with the Lions (Be Wild with Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Look. Here’s the thing. I know what I’m about, and what I’m about is ridiculous idfic and pseudohistorical bullshit. And badass lesbians. So here we are. Ridiculous, iddy pseudohistorical lesbians. I’m sorry for the way I’ve butchered history at large while staying obsessively close to meaningless details; mostly I’ve mashed together several eras of Roman history, as well as ignored everything that’s actually real about the Gothics and took a flexible approach to the timing and a plot-important yet fake cultural aspect of Kush. I am your problematic non-fave.
> 
> A thousand thanks to my lovely betas, arcadeghostadventures and tsumego! You are, as always, the best.
> 
> Content Warnings: violence, animal violence, slavery

Dark, damp, and dirty: Carol had been in worse situations, but not by much. So much for supposed Roman innovation and elegance-- the underside of their famed Coliseum was no better than a cave, and generally smellier, she realized after she had a chance to take it in. Her jailers dragged her along too fast to catch more than a glance at the other prisoners, but mostly they looked just like the stench around her. Grim.

Carol’s Latin was for shit, but she recognized enough of the barked command to brace herself for the kick that followed. It still took the breath out of her, enough so that the door of the cell slammed behind her before she could get to her feet. She snarled at their backs anyway, because she wanted to believe it would make her feel better. It didn’t really. The backs of her hands still burned from the brands newly pressed into them.

“----?” said a voice inquisitively. Carol whipped around with her hands held up and ready to punch in lieu of better weapons. A woman stood there in a tunic and tattered leather armor, her hands held open and out in supplication.

“Do you speak Gothic?” Carol asked.

The woman shook her head and took a half step forward. Carol darted back, slamming into the cell door behind her. The woman leaned away, raising her open palms further.

“Can you understand me?” the woman asked in Greek.

“Yes,” said Carol. The word was thick in her mouth, like it always was with Greek, but the last ten years fighting with Greek mercenaries ensured she was more than passable with the language. _And now they’re all dead_ , she remembered in a flash, fury rising in her and clenching her fists tighter. That pulled at the tender, half-born scabs on the back of her hands, though, and she hissed as the pain shot up her arm and down her ribs anew.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Carol said shortly. “What’s your name?”

“Maria. Let me tend to your hands.”

Carol shook her head, leaning back against the door as Maria stepped forward. Maria flipped her hands over to show the backs, and there too was the bold brand shaped like a Latin D. _Damnatio_ , the guards had laughed over Carol’s screams as they pressed the brand against skin. It was partially healed over on Maria’s hands, pink and swollen but at least no longer open and seeping like Carol’s.

Carol’s resolve could only hold so long at the thought of being able to use her hands without pain. “Okay,” she said.

Maria spread her hands again and walked slowly towards Carol. “I have bandages in my belt pouch,” she said. “I’m going to get them out.”

Carol’s shoulders went down. “I’m not a wild animal,” she said. “You can just get the bandages.”

Maria relaxed in response, smiling. “With that snarl on your face, I wasn’t so sure,” she said. She reached into her belt pouch and pulled out the promised bandages and, gods above, a pot of salve. At Carol’s wide-eyed look, she added, “Guess they figure it doesn’t matter if we bandage ourselves up before they set the lions on us.”

“Give us a little hope before the end. How sporting,” Carol said. Maria started at her work, spreading the salve with practiced efficiency. Carol suppressed a wince as a callus on Maria’s hand caught on her scab and pulled it up. “What’d they decide you should die for?” she asked, half to distract herself.

“Being a woman on the battlefield,” Maria said. So they _were_ sword calluses, then. “You?”

“Same,” Carol said. “And because I took down more of them than any two of the men I was fighting with combined.”

“It took ten of them to capture me, and I took down fifteen in return,” Maria said.

“I sent sixteen to the hells before they got me,” Carol said. Maria nodded in response, focused now on wrapping the bandages tight enough to keep the salve on without cutting off blood. She squeezed Carol’s fingers as if to say _I’m done_ or _congrats on getting those bastards_ and then let go. Carol rotated her wrists and flexed her fingers to get a feel for the restriction. It was neatly done, probably better than she could’ve managed herself, and Carol marked another impressed point in Maria’s column.

“So, is there anything to eat around this place?” Carol asked.

Maria stepped away to the far wall and turned her back to it, sliding down to sit on the ground. “How do you like the taste of rat?” She laughed at Carol’s twisted lip. “Maybe the guards will bring some stale bread by soon.”

“A feast,” Carol said drily. That got another chuckle out of Maria, a hint of warmth breaking through the dank air. It was too appealing to stay so far away from, so Carol crossed the few armspans of the cell to sit next to Maria. “Where are you from?”

“Carthage, most recently,” said Maria. “Though I am from Kush originally.” Carol elbowed her lightly. “What?”

“What’s Kush?”

“A kingdom east of Carthage, led by warrior queens.”

“Such as yourself, I assume,” Carol teased, nudging Maria with her elbow again.

Maria elbowed back. “My unit was sent to Carthage to help against the Roman invasion. What about you? You’re not Greek.”

“Gothic, actually. From far to the north, but I’ve been fighting alongside Greek mercenaries for years.”

Silence fell between them, or at least a lack of speaking. The murmurs and screams and sobs of other prisoners still echoed around them, intermixed with the frantic calls of beasts; not even the heavy stone walls of their cell could totally deaden the racket.

_Before they set the lions on us,_ Maria had said. There were always rumours about the games the Romans put on in their Coliseum, rumours so outrageous that Carol never put much stock in them. Tens of thousands of beasts killed in one morning? An ocean created inland to recreate naval battles? Ridiculous. She assumed the truth was smaller, a hundred beasts or a naval battle in a lake. Stories grow large as they travel across tongues; Carol once met a man who told her about a crazed woman that slaughtered a hundred men in revenge for the one that had accidentally placed a hand upon her. It had taken Carol two weeks to realize it was about her and two men she’d killed, one that held a knife to her neck and his accomplice that tore at her clothes.

“Do you really think they’ll set lions on us?” Carol asked.

Maria sighed. “It’s either the beasts, or each other,” she said. “Some Carthaginians I know have been to the games and told me about it all.”

“I hope it’s the beasts,” Carol said. “It’s cowardly to have prisoners kill each other. If the Romans think we should die, then they should spill our blood themselves.”

Maria was quiet for a long moment, and then: “I have slain a lion before, you know.”

Carol whipped around to face Maria. “What?!”

Maria canted her lips at Carol while a sly look sat under her eyelashes. “Every young warrior in my clan earns first blood from a lion.” Maria sat forward slightly to tug at her tunic, and Carol realized with a start that her own hand rested on Maria’s knee. She withdrew it as subtly as she could while she tipped her head to look at the skin Maria revealed. Thick, knotted scars striped in parallels across Maria’s ribs. “I was young and stupid and the lion got me good before I killed it. Now I’m less young and less stupid, and if I have another strong fighter by my side…”

“I’ll fight with you,” Carol said fiercely. She placed her hand again on Maria’s knee and squeezed. “Fuck the Romans. My death won’t be entertainment for them, and neither will yours.”

Maria slid her fingertips underneath Carol’s and pressed their hands together. “Better rest up,” she said. “Who knows how much they’ll feed us or how long it’ll be until the games. We can’t waste our energy.”

Carol groaned, flopping back against the wall. “I hate waiting,” she said, even though she knew Maria was right. “It’s boring. Won’t you spar with me a _little_? Just for something to do?”

“You can be bored for now or you can be dead in the ring later,” Maria said. “I suggest napping. Seems to pass the time pretty well for me.”

Carol sighed aggressively, and when Maria didn’t respond, sighed again even louder. “But I’m _bored_.”

“Is it better than being dead?” Maria asked. Her head was tipped back against the stone and her eyes closed.

“Technically,” Carol muttered. _Fuck it,_ she thought to herself. Who knows how long they’ll be left to rot down here. No matter how hard they try to win, this may still be one of the last days of living for them. She turned again to Maria, resting her hand on Maria’s ankle and then slowly caressing up Maria’s leg, across her knee, and down her thigh until Carol’s hand tucked neatly into the crease there. “Hey,” Carol said.

Maria’s eyes slit open, and she rolled her head to side to look at Carol. “Yes?” Maria said, in a _I’m being very patient with you right now_ kind of voice.

“I can think of another way to pass the time,” Carol said lowly. She slid her hand up and down Maria’s thigh a bit. “Together.” For her, it was pretty subtle.

Again, that little smile quirked Maria’s lips. “Can you,” she said. “Does that often work for you?”

“Usually I say, _let’s fuck,_ ” Carol said. “This approach is new for me.”

“Oh. Well. I appreciate the romance,” Maria said, and Carol snorted, unable to hold it in.

“Just for you, beautiful,” Carol said. Usually she’d leer something like that, make it sound overdone to get a laugh. This time, it was painfully sincere.

Their noses were nearly touching now, and Carol braced herself to lean in the final inch when Maria said gently, “We need to save our energy, remember?”

Carol pulled back so fast she jarred her back against the masonry. “Well--” she started to say, heated, and then Maria’s hand landed on Carol’s thigh, which shut her up real fast.

“How about we save it for a victory celebration?” Maria said. Her fingers slipped along Carol’s thigh, teasing their way to that delicate spot on the inside of the thigh, high up, just a breath away from brushing against something even more tender.

Carol felt a flush run through her, going from her cheeks and down her chest to settle in her pussy. She shifted her leg, trying to slip Maria’s fingers just a bit up and inward, but Maria’s grip was too firm. Damn. “Yeah, okay,” Carol conceded, her voice a bit thin.

“Okay,” Maria said, a promise made of swordsteel.

\------

Time passed slowly. So, so, slowly. Painfully slowly. Time crawled along. Time potentially moved backward, it went forward so slowly.

“You’re mumbling to yourself about time again,” Maria said. “It’s still going forward. It doesn’t go in any other direction.”

“Why isn’t this driving you insane?” Carol asked. “‘This’ being, you know--”

“Time?” Maria interrupted. “Because I’m too busy being driven insane by your mumbling.” The look she gave Carol was softer than her words, thankfully.

Probably three or four days had passed since Carol was thrown into the cell. It was hard to tell for sure without the sun, but the guards came regularly with water and bread and sometimes a bit of salted fish. The time between visits seemed long enough to make the meals breakfast and dinner, and they’d been by seven times so far. So-- probably three or four days.

The time had gone slowly, but there were high points: trading war stories, sharing about what drew them to be warriors, playing “if I could eat anything…” until both of them were bent in half with hunger pains. Maybe the last one wasn’t so much of a high point. Still, Carol had decided in the first eight hours that if she had to be stuck in a cell waiting for her death, doing it with Maria was the best possible option-- and that was before she told the hilarious story about the spear, the chicken, and the rookie warrior she was mentoring that had Carol crying with laughter.

Their conversations had dropped off as the racket outside their cell walls had increased over the last twelve hours or so; now it was so loud that Carol had to raise her voice for Maria to hear her from just two armspans away. Before, Carol could track the movement of the guards by their ringing footsteps on the stone floors, but after the increase in noise they’d snuck up on her twice so she was keeping one wary eye on the cell door.

This time Carol saw them coming, but it didn’t make much of a difference; they stormed in so quickly she couldn’t stand up in time, and another precisely delivered kick had her wheezing just long enough for them to grab her arms and bind them. Carol could barely keep her legs under her as they shuffled out in the hall. “Maria?!”

“I’m here,” Maria’s voice came faintly from behind.

“Where are they taking us?” Maria had told Carol a day-- two days? No, probably a day-- ago that she knew a little Latin, gods bless.

“They haven’t said--” Maria ended on a grunt of pain, probably from a foot or a fist.

“Hey!” Carol shouted, this time in Gothic. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you sacks of shit! We’re fucking prisoners, you cowards--” Unsurprisingly, she got another hearty boot to the ribs for that.

They guards dragged them along the maze like corridors for an insufferably long five minutes before they arrived at a sturdy wooden door. On the other side was a light that felt blinding after days spent in the dusk of the underground, and Carol was blinking and cursing as they dragged her up to another person. The guards tugged her to stand upright and the new person examined her before nodding. She stepped away and then came back carrying a pile of leather, and from the corner of Carol’s eye, she could see the same happening to Maria. The leather was dropped at their feet, and the attendant went away and came back with cheapest felt tunics and ragged sandals.

Carol’s guards held her at spearpoint as one carefully unbound her arms. She thought for a long minute about trying to escape, but Maria caught her eye and shook her head imperceptibly. Carol sighed and obediently changed out of the gritty, bloodied uniform of her old unit and into the clothes provided. There was no bandeau or loincloth-- why waste underthings on criminals about to die?-- which was more disquieting than she expected. Even with the leather armor, not having the underclothes left her feeling half naked.

From there, they were grimly marched back into the dark, to some kind of a staging area. Here, there was shouting vying with bells and drums and animal sounds. Occasionally, a hole in the ceiling would open up, and slaves would push at a great capstan to raise a cage up to the surface of the arena. Carol nearly strained her neck gawking as they moved through the area; she’d never seen anything like it, and it nearly seemed like magic to her.

Unsurprisingly, they were also prodded into a cage. Once the door was locked, an attendant shoved in two swords and two shields and then they were mostly alone.

“Are you ready?” Maria asked as they kneeled together to unbind the swords from each other.

Carol’s stomach was aching for food and her throat had been half dry for days. Her muscles ached from just the short walk around the underside of the arena, so unused to activity were they. The brands on the backs of her hands had begun to heal, but they still throbbed incessantly and burned as she made a fist around the hilt of the sword. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark and would be painfully blinded once they were ejected into the sun. She itched for a breeze on her skin, for the patter of raindrops, for the taste of a sweet piece of fruit to remind her that she was alive and not in the first set of hells.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Carol said. “Are you gonna hold up your end of the bargain when we win?”

Carol expected to get a baffled look at that, for they hadn’t discussed it since that first day, but instead Maria smouldered at her. “You have my word.”

There was a ringing bell, a shout, the crack of a whip, the groan of wood, and then they were rising up into the blindingly bright hole in the ceiling. Just before the light hit them and as the noise of the crowd grew, Maria murmured, “Remember, as we planned…”

The cage shuddered to a halt and one side fell down to make a ramp as the crowd let out a cheer. Carol’s eyes ached at the sun, and she couldn’t see more than a few spans away from herself. She hesitated-- the cage seemed safer while she was still sun-blind-- but Maria hissed, “Get out, get out, go back to back, remember?” Carol followed the comforting, fuzzy shape of Maria, and when they were free of the cage, turned her back to touch Maria’s. “Can you see anything?”

“Not yet,” Carol says. “No movement, though, I think.” They circled warily, back to back, as Carol blinked and blinked to fight away the white fire in her eyes. “I thought they’d send it out when we were still blind,” Carol said after a long minute.

“It’s not as amusing if we can’t see our death coming,” Maria says briefly, and then on a shout, “There!” Carol scanned the arena one last time-- no second lion, gods bless-- and then turned to join Maria. All the strategy that had discussed for days was coursing through Carol’s mind.

_Be quick-- if we take too long, it’ll overpower us. Remember we’re not fresh or healthy, and the lion will outlast us. Plus, if you’re not quick, it’ll bite your arm off. Use your shield edge to strike a stronger blow; it’s tough enough that it won’t feel anything less. Cut at its legs first to lame it. Going for the head over the heart is safer, because you’re a little further from those claws. It can kill you with one kick of a back leg so stay alert even if it’s belly-up._

A flash of knowledge was all Carol had before instinct took over. The lion charged them down, and in sync Maria and Carol took two steps away from each other and swiped at the lion’s legs. The lion screamed, skidding to a stop with its left leg folded; Carol’s strike had landed deeply, white bone visible underneath the wound. It tried to rise, screaming again, before lifting the left paw and warily advancing again. The crowd noise, before a light chatter, died away in interest. “I don’t think they expected us to be so entertaining!” Carol said with a bitter whip on the last word.

“Give them a show and we might live,” Maria said.

“As you wish,” Carol said. She turned to the audience, raising her sword and shield and saluting each quadrant of the Coliseum.

“Watch out!” Maria shouted, and Carol turned just in time to dodge the lion. The crowd ooh’ed, some applause coming through. The lion turned to face them again, snarling, and Maria said grimly, “We need to finish this.”

“But I’m having so much fun,” Carol said. The edge of sarcasm poorly hid her relief at fighting for something instead of sitting idle. Still, she could feel exhaustion looming over her; her grip on sword and shield was already weak from the pain of the brands, and her hollow stomach had little energy to give to her limbs.

They advanced together, the lion watching warily. Maria feinted forward and back, dropping her sword point and leaving her arm outstretched. The lion took the bait, darting forward to try to bite at her undefended sword-arm. That was what they were waiting for; Maria jammed her sword-hand into the lion’s mouth with the cross-guard vertical. The lion bit down and then yelped, stopped by the cross-guard. “Quick!” Maria commanded, using her shield-edge to deal a sharp blow to the lion’s head. While it was disoriented, Carol darted forward, dropped to a knee, and sunk her blade from under the beast’s chin straight up through its head. The lion collapsed forward with a spurt of blood, inadvertently shoving the sword further up into its skull. Only then did Carol notice how thin it was, every rib on clear display.

The crowd roared as they both retrieved their swords; Carol had to brace her foot on the lion’s shoulder to gain enough leverage to yank her sword free. Carol looked up to see thousands of fists held up in the air, thumbs tucked inside the other fingers. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“They want us to live,” Maria said.

Carol’s arm trembled under the weight of her sword as she rose it into a salute to the crowd, again turning to each quadrant of the arena. She locked her knees to keep them from collapsing and blinked away the black spots in her vision. The sun beat down unmercifully, hot enough that Carol should be sweating but there wasn’t enough water left in her for even that.

Maria joined in with her theatrics, and once they were done saluting the Coliseum, she said, “This way-- that’s the editor.” They turned to face a long edge of the arena where an opulent crowd sat in a private box away from the masses. Maria dropped her sword-point into the ground to brace herself as she knelt with a bowed head. Carol followed her lead, and they waited as the crowd slowly calmed. Finally, a bell was struck, a voice rang out, and Maria went limp.

“What is it?” Carol asked urgently.

“We are spared,” Maria said.

\------

Relief had barely started to flow through Carol’s veins when guards came up from underneath the arena with outstretched hands asking for their swords and shields. Carol resisted as a guard tugged at the hilt of her sword, but a warning, “Carol,” from Maria was enough to convince her to concede. They were quickly back in the labyrinth below, but this time the guards loosely encircled them instead of dragging them along. The corridors became brighter, cleaner, and quieter as they travelled into a new section of the hypogeum.

Their destination was, apparently, a bathhouse. The first breath of warm, humid air had both Carol and Maria giving heartfelt groans.

“-----,” one of the guards said in Latin.

“Greek?” Carol asked hopefully.

The guard’s face screwed up, and he ponderously said in Greek, “Wash. Dress. Eat. Healer. Meet sponsor.”

Maria and Carol nodded, and the guard stepped back. Modesty was meaningless against the temptation of a bath, so Carol and Maria stripped down together and nearly sprinted for the tepidarium. Maria found a scraper and a jar of oil and set to oiling and scraping while Carol went straight for the water. The steaming air filled with their sighs and groans as layers of itching filth melted away.

Carol dove under the water, scrubbing at her face and hair, and then resurfaced with a shake to clear the water from her eyes. She leaned back into the seat etched in the stone of the bath and took a moment to eye up Maria, who had her foot up on a stone bench to scrape at her calf. Her upper body glistened with oil that limned the hypnotic flex of her muscles as she scraped and flicked, scraped and flicked. It was, Carol decided, one of the best things she’d seen in a while. Maria switched her legs, her eyes flicking over to check on Carol, and there was that tiny smile again. This time, she stretched a little further, caressed her leg a little smoother, and Carol nearly licked her lips.

Inevitably, that was when a slave appeared carrying wine. Carol abruptly remembered she was thirsty for more than just Maria, and held out a hand demandingly. The slave said something in Latin, and Maria responded briefly while intercepting the wine cup.

“I wanted that,” Carol said. “And I’m tired of all this Latin.”

“Better hurry up and learn some, then,” Maria said after taking a long swig from the cup. “They were saying there’s more food outside and fresh clothes.”

“What are we waiting for?” Carol’s stomach demanded through her mouth. Her hand was still stretched out for the cup, and she opened and closed it until Maria rolled her eyes and stepped closer to offer it.

“You to stop turning into a raisin, I think,” Maria said as Carol snatched the wine. “I’m done.”

Carol tipped her head back and drained the cup in one long gulp. Chest heaving, she said, “Sure you don’t want to rinse off?”

“Only if I want all my skin to flake off after,” Maria said. “You sure you don’t want to oil up?”

“Only if you’ll help me.”

“What about food, though?”

Carol heaved herself out of the water at that, reaching for a clean scraper to dry off. “Okay, oil me up after we eat.”

“We have to meet our sponsor after we eat,” Maria said blandly.

Carol squinted at her. “Are you teasing me?”

“Never,” Maria said, turning and walking back towards the door to the entryway with a flirtatious wiggle in her hips, and Carol dropped the scraper to follow close behind.

Carol gaped at the feast laid out in the vestibule. Between her and the food stood slaves offering clothes, so she reluctantly dressed-- this time bandeau and loincloth were included, gods bless, in addition to a soft wool tunic-- before descending on the food. She might have blacked out a bit, coming to only when Maria rested a hand on her shoulder. “Slow down,” she cautioned.

“You’re so responsible,” Carol said through a mouthful of oiled and spiced chickpeas.

“I don’t want to hear you groaning about your stomach in a few hours,” Maria said. “I have other plans.”

“I’ll slow down,” Carol said.

They ate and drank until just crumbs and dregs were left, and then the slaves brought out bowls of water and cloths to clean their hands. Once clean again, two healers appeared to check them over. The only work for them was rebandaging Carol’s hands, but they still were thorough in ensuring there was nothing else.

After the healers stepped away, a slave asked Maria a question and Maria responded with a nod. “Time to meet the sponsor,” Maria told Carol as the slave opened the door back into the hypogeum and gestured for them to leave. There were no guards this time, a surprising level of trust-- or shrewd understanding. Carol was too bloated and content to fight off a pack of kids, let alone a guard. It’s not like they would get far, anyway: too recognizable.

The slave led them again along the twists and turns of the hypogeum to a staircase, where they ascended three floors into the Coliseum proper. Their sponsor must be high-ranking, then, to sit so low and close to the arena floor. “Who do you think it’ll be?” Carol asked Maria to save off the zip of nervous adrenaline in her bones.

“Let me think of all the Roman senators I know…” Maria said, and hmm’d unconvincingly.

“I mean, do you think he finds us funny? Are we just a joke?” Carol pressed.

Maria shrugged. “Does it matter, as long as he keeps us alive?”

The slave shushed them loudly as they arrived at a door, glaring until they both stopped talking and assumed more serious expressions. Then, he opened the door, bowing them into the space beyond.

The box was airy, linen sunshades creating coolness and a light breeze stirring against Carol’s skin. A feast sat forgotten to one side of the box as various Romans crowded at the other end to look down at the arena. The slave announced something, and the crowd, faces gleaming with bloodlust and perhaps a bit too much wine, turned to face Carol and Maria.

A man with skin as dark as Maria’s stepped forward. His toga was blindingly white with a purple stripe upon it. “A senator,” Maria muttered, before saluting him with head bowed. Carol followed suit.

“-----------!” he said in Latin. Carol resigned herself to not knowing what was going on for now, and stared blankly at what little of the arena she could see while she waited. The senator’s guests quickly lost interest in them, turning back to face whatever amusements were happening down below. Carol caught the brief flash of a man in a bright helm and another wearing the barest of armor upon his shoulder and hips.

Carol was dragged back from the arena as the senator gestured towards her, asking a question, and Maria answered.

“You understand Greek?” The senator said, startling Carol.

“Uh, yes,” she said, and then realized she was talking to a senator. “Sir.”

“I am Senator Fury,” he said. “I am your sponsor, and you are my gladiators.”

“You are merciful,” Carol said. “Did we entertain you?” Maria went tense, but she wasn’t bold enough to tell Carol to shut it in front of their lifeline, apparently.

“As a matter of fact, you did,” Fury said. “I liked seeing you two give it to that lion. You didn’t lay down and take it, and I admire that. Plus, the senators always underestimate female gladiators, so I can win a lot of money off you.” Fury gave Carol a piercing look, stopping her question in its tracks. “I know trained soldiers when I see them. It’s a waste to not put that to use. Win battles, win me money, and you can be freed. Perhaps even lead a centuria yourself, or be a gladiator trainer. I don’t give a damn, as long as you fill my coffers and stick it to the senators for me first.”

“I do like sticking it, sir,” Carol said. Maria sighed. “Will we get to fight together?”

Fury waved a hand. “That’s up to the editor. I hope they’re stupid enough to let me to send you out as a pair against a man, but who knows how long I’ll get away with it. You both better be able to fight on your own, too.” He paused, thinking. “Maybe I could have you hunt together more.” A mighty shout echoed around the Coliseum, and the crowd within Fury’s box cheered. “Anyway, you’ll get your orders later. For now, rest up and eat well. You’ve earned it. You’ll start training tomorrow.” He turned and rejoined his crowd, and the slave stepped forward and gestured towards the door.

Back through the sunny hallways, back down the staircases into the dim hypogeum they followed the slave. The food was really starting to get to Carol now; her eyelids and limbs sagged, each threatening to drag on the ground if she let them. Without the adrenaline of the arena, her body was calling in its dues after days of misery trapped in the cell and the forced march to Rome before then.

The slave kept to the brighter, quieter areas of the hypogeum, following a straight path that seemed to go on for far too long. A stairway, manned by two guards, finally swum into view. The slave said something to Maria, and she murmured to Carol, “He says it’s the Ludus Magnus, the gladiator’s school.”

“I’m skipping class today,” Carol mumbled and then yawned. “We’re not in the Coliseum anymore?”

“I don’t think so,” Maria said. The stairs led to a wide oval courtyard that was filled with weapons racks and dummies and surrounded with seating: the Coliseum in miniature. It was empty, but of course it would be, with all the gladiators participating in the games today. They passed through the quiet courtyard, up another set of stairs, and into a small room at the end of a hallway. It had two straw beds-- sheer luxury after sleeping on filthy stone-- and a small window that let in bright sun and fresh air. Carol stared blankly at the room, swaying, as the slave explained something to Maria with expansive hand gestures.

Carol teetered over to one of the beds, keeled over, and surrendered to sleep.

\------

Carol woke up to golden evening light and a gripping terror: where was she? What day was it? What the fuck was happening?

Memory crawled back slowly: right. Prisoner of the Romans. Lion in the Coliseum. Gladiator. _Maria_. Carol flipped over to face the rest of the room, and there was the woman herself, propped up against the opposite wall with her legs stretched out down the bed. A plate was balanced on her lap that she was slowly working her way through.

“Hey there,” Maria said. “I brought you some food.” She gestured towards the floor, and Carol looked over the edge of the mattress to see a wineskin and a plate packed with meat and bread and oils, a hearty soldier’s meal.

“Gods bless,” Carol said feverently and fell on it.

Plate demolished, she wiped her mouth on her arm and looked at Maria. “Did you sleep too?”

“Not as much as you,” Maria said. “But some, before I went exploring.”

“How does this place look?”

“Like a nice prison,” Maria said. “But the food is good and there’s plenty of it, and the other gladiators I saw were being treated well. There were good healers patching them up, and the trainers didn’t seem to be cruel towards them.”

Carol flopped back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. “Any weaknesses? Escape routes?”

“Not that I could see. We’ll keep looking.” Maria’s voice grew closer until there she was, smiling down at Carol. “In a hurry to go somewhere?”

“Actually, no,” Carol said. “I’m in a hurry for something else, though, now that you mention it.” She reached for Maria’s hand and they intertwined fingers. Carol propped herself up on her other arm and then tugged until Maria spilled down on top of her.

“I heard you had a great victory today,” Maria said. Carol’s heart lurched and clawed into her throat. “I heard you have slain your first lion and have become a warrior.”

“That’s true,” Carol said. Maria’s hips were heavy on top of Carol’s and her gaze just as weighty. “What’s my reward?”

“Pride. Honor. A place among my clan,” Maria said solemnly.

“Hmmm…” Carol mused, eyes upcast. “I was thinking something a little more along the lines of…”

“Fucking?” Maria filled in for her, voice as rich as fine wine.

Carol raised an eyebrow. “If you’re offering.”

“I remember making you a promise,” Maria said. “I’d like to make good on that.”

“A woman of your word, I see.”

Maria leaned down and whispered into Carol’s ear, “A woman with _needs_. I wanted to pin you down in that bath earlier and make you scream. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Well then, get started,” Carol said. She stretched out with an insolent smile, because she was pretty sure Maria would want to wipe it off her face and she wanted to see how that would go.

Instead, Maria curled a hand softly around Carol’s cheek and kissed her. It started out sweet and bouncing, kiss after kiss after kiss bursting playfully on Carol’s lips, surprising a giggle out of her. Maria tipped Carol’s head to the side and traced a wandering path across the apple of Carol’s cheek and then down past the hollow behind her jaw all the way to her collarbone, following the thrum of blood in her neck. There, Maria teased, backing off into light fluttering kisses before pressing forth into nearly biting kisses. The last squeezed as gasp out of Carol, and that was all Maria needed. She used hard kisses to find her way back to Carol’s mouth, and they pushed back and forth, open-mouthed and panting.

Maria’s hand slipped along Carol’s thigh, dragging Carol’s tunic up as her hand came to rest on Carol’s breast. Carol took that as instruction and grabbed the hem of her tunic to drag it over her head. Maria pounced on the opening and tugged at the bandeau as well, and once it was discarded, sat back with an admiring gleam in her eye.

“Like what you see?” Carol said, stretching.

“It’s a good look on you,” Maria said. She bent her head, pressing a final kiss to Carol’s collarbone and then drawing a line down her sternum and to the left. She licked at Carol’s nipple, and, at Carol’s encouraging noise, closed her mouth and sucked. Carol arched, her hand coming to rest on Maria’s head as she urged for more. Maria meandered down Carol’s body, inspecting and kissing whatever bits of skin seemed to especially appeal to her.

Carol had been babbling a meaningless stream of “oh, yeah”s and “like that”s and “ugh, you’re so good”s and various blasphemies and curses in Gothic for a while now. When Maria tugged off her loincloth, elbowed her knees apart and lowered down, though, she graduated to simple moans. The first gentle caress of Maria’s tongue had her twisting and groping for a hand-hold, and she settles her hand gently on Maria’s head. Maria squeezes Carol’s thigh, as if you say _I got you_ or _get ready, this is gonna be wild_ and licks Carol from her fluttering opening to her clit in one long, knee-melting swipe.

Maria wasted no time teasing after that; she set to a rhythm that was almost right. “Just a bit f-faster,” Carol stuttered, and then, “And-- lighter-- _oh, fuck_ ,” she exhaled, long and fervent. It wasn’t long before Carol was arching with a long moan and twisting up into Maria’s mouth. Maria started to slow down, but Carol tugged at her hair. “Keep going,” she gasped. “I like it when it’s a little too much.” Maria obediently sped back up again until Carol let out a ragged shout, curling up as she came in great, waving pulses from her tingling fingers and toes to her pussy.

Carol collapsed back with a deep sigh as Maria wiped her mouth on her arm and slid back up Carol’s body. “Wow,” Carol said appreciatively.

“You like it when it’s a ‘little too much,’ huh?” Maria asked, a wry twist to her mouth. She had propped herself up above Carol, and Carol was reminded of the lack of nakedness on Maria’s part.

“I know what I’m about, okay,” Carol said. She raised a hand to cup Maria’s face softly and used the distraction it provided to lever herself up and over to tip Maria onto the bed. “My turn,” Carol said, lowering herself down for a deep, soft kiss.

\------

“Did you mean that?” Carol said muzzily, some time later.

“Mean what?” Maria said from her faceplant in Carol’s armpit.

“That I’m part of your clan now,” Carol said.

Maria lifted her head to press a soft kiss against the thrum of Carol’s pulse that lingered just under her chin. “Yes,” Maria said. “All I have is you. You’re my clan now.”

“And I’m yours,” Carol said, nuzzling a kiss against Maria’s brow. “Our clan of two. Let’s show all those assholes what we’ve got together.”

 


End file.
